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AMONG THE GNOMES Fire in the sky drops down in flaming tears of burning jelly covers the ground

in bubbling ooze there was never any television wonderland there was never any mad dash for thunder there was never any never I sit in Foix its not cold my liver hurts there is no fair I have no faith All in Foix all in the chair of mountains which spills into the Atlantic through Asturias after being belched up around the Black Sea There is no reason to continue this charade . . . . The men and the women if indeed they are human, scurry about in white lab coats looking less confident than the rats they are testing in a maze constantly rearranging itself under the command of a sophisticated algorithm there has been some kind of breakdown the expected result has been trumped by an unforeseen element the dragon has given over to the guppy the sky has revealed itself after many centuries of disguise The sculpture war has begun! statues have jumped off their pedestals and begun attacking passersby There is no riot there is no sound It is the softest war ever known carried out in granite and marble . . . . The occupation force microscopic in size -- literally -Infection holds sway over the lumbering giant . . . .

I could have.... yeah woulda coulda shoulda Im not sure, Gibby Regretting all that Ive done seems as painful as regretting what I havent It seems as though in all my peregrinations I have fragmented myself suffered from too many goodbyes suffered from too much loving There are so many places my heart lies Cold in a hole and cold in its Falsehoods The worst of which has never landed me in the hot water I....but some truths should not be written At least not now The cold glare The extreme circle of heat and cold both burning at different velocities the swift consumption of the biting delayed disintegration One perfectly preserved in the ice so sudden, so dramatic Another with black lips and no fingertips When did the rabbit die? When did the Klink of Keys die? The door slammed shut The menacing grin of an opportunistic Friendship The pillow which has slipped into dark oblivion a dank smithereen a fragment of the exploded looking glass When did the gold revert back to shit? The flame sputter into the snap crackle pop of a decidedly non-cereal elf Plunging the chamber into darkness Mocking the drooping eaves under which silent mice scurry

Now the real work begins What is this strange inability? When did concentration die & consternation fly? The general strike has spread outwards to the mermaids They will not sing to sailors

Years ago, innumerable, all was void save heaven which always was and always will be the sole harbour against non-existence From heaven descended a great bear whose pelt shimmered w/ the colors of Exhaustion trumps beauty the rainbow healthy mountain air He found himself in the void the ironic joy of teaching needing to defecate the lab-coated mouse-watchers So with animal nonchalance the complexities of my proceeded with his excretory muddled mother tongue ablutions And, after the requisite sniff A diary bounded by the page Went about his way No point but to ramble on giving as much thought to his turd to fill it before its time to as you would one of yours go As this turd desiccated and for the last time ever was blown about by the winds in the void, the seeds of all future planets were planted, and the small animals which lived At 13 hours in the turd, so tiny that even a I wait for my eager beavers god couldnt see them even if and everyone in the world seems to he/she knew they were there, be named Karine spread their progeny in the some kind of cosmic homing beacon particles which harbored them, this concentration thus populating all these planets of so many Karines clustered into one with the living creatures that place the inevitable calling to them led to all the current beasts produces the necessary vibrations and peoples of the 27 thousand for interstellar communication known heavens, clustered around ----to a place where Karine the original heaven called Eden, signifies this is the place and surrounded by the endless in a kind of fertile lineage void so ably represented by Aztecs and Mormons . . . . One saw a snake in the mouth of an eagle Thus it was written Another a great barren waste of salt and thus we are compelled to believe and lo! an empire each was founded thereupon to act accordingly each one in fraudulent communion w/ stars Swear fealty to no king save the and sensational heavens great bear and his representatives each one somehow finding messages This is not made to be read emanating from within the bowels of the earth in halls or boxing rings [and it is perpetually 10 minutes after the This is not rhythmic and appointed hour] will not sit well w/ Great tomes, bound in flinty sheets & dancing tambourines, inscribed vulgar clothing or castanets on bark, recount the following tale: . . . . Solemn reflection upon the humm slow and expansive Drink a beer at lunch sit in the sun and enjoy the cool breeze the mountain looming and stubbled and beautiful we are still going to die

shut the door on the noise and commence to fucking Your ceaseless battlecry is: a desolate cemetery a television thru the walls a squalling infant a delirious refrain captured by a faulty net Butterflies turn cartwheels in the sky but the dead take no heed Somehow they have forgotten how to care Perhaps that sentiment disappeared as their noses caved in A skull in a box with maggots Drunken Mexicans drink Mezcal w/cherries Slip into midnight graveyards with drunken gringos a-tow Peer into tombs so poorly placed we see gaping maws and smell a charnel funk Tienes Miedo? No, not of skulls and dead flesh But of disturbing the town w/ this intrusion The long bones of the leg are removed and incredibly thrown over the wall We bolt straight from thru the main gate and hide in our adobe building Bolt securely locked against the pounding that wont go away . . . . And now children imitate memories they have never even seen Their minds like overturned cups Four more hours to go

Slide the desk against the door and block out the sun slide cock into waiting vulva Swollen and bristling A fruit opened . . . . The gaslite ploy convincing the invincible of their questionable madness as the roar of the machinery begins to sound like pounding surf Nature broken down into a series of painted tin plates warped and waffled about by dead certainties One side loses nuance The other a sense of truth In the middle of this raging war the rest of us drink stale wine and look for scraps of food, ready to kill if only invisibility offers the chance

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